


The Scandanavian Investor

by Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU where Chuck doesn't realize he's God yet, Anal Sex, Chuck would have said yes without the alcohol but he was in no shape to consent, Crack, Drink responsibly everyone, Fingering, Loki's kind of a dick, M/M, Prostate Massage, Tequila, choki, dub-con, mescal, way too much alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness/pseuds/Masterpiece_of_turkey_cleverness
Summary: This is an AU where Chuck won't realize he's God until the end of Season 5.  I'll be honest, this is more than a bit crackish, but Mir said that was all right.Prompt: How about Choki (which is what we're calling Chuck/Loki now…) Based on this line from The Real Ghostbusters, "Thanks to a wealthy Scandinavian investor, we're going to start publishing again."  -Chuck.Here is how the meeting went between investor and writer...
Relationships: Loki (Supernatural: Unfinished Business)/Chuck Shurley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 11
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	The Scandanavian Investor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miranda99956](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miranda99956/gifts).



Chuck was nervous. He’d met fans before, at the conventions, but an investor was different. Especially _this_ investor. Sure, the Winchesters had threatened his life if he published more stories, but a writer’s gotta eat, and the _Supernatural_ books were how he made a living. A crappy living, but a living nonetheless. 

Chuck had tried to get the investor to just talk to his publisher, but the man had refused. He wanted to meet the author of _Supernatural._ Chuck just hoped he didn’t fuck up this meeting, or there would be no more checks from his publisher for the foreseeable future. It didn’t help that he didn’t really know what the investor wanted--did he just want to geek out over meeting Chuck and snap a few selfies, or did he want something more significant? 

Chuck took a long drink from his wine glass, which the waitress had filled when he sat down before leaving the bottle. After he had asked, she produced some soda water and lemon he added to his wine. It was a nice restaurant, and under other circumstances, he would have been thoroughly enjoying the experience. His normal ‘nice restaurant,’ after all, was basically Olive Garden. This was definitely several steps up from that, and the investor would be paying. That was good, Chuck supposed. 

He hadn’t known what to wear, so eventually he’d gone for a nice button-down and jeans, figuring that if you met a writer, they might as well look like a writer (aka one step above homeless). The fact that the other patrons were dressed to the proverbial nines and occasionally gave him weird looks was making Chuck regret that choice, but he tried to ignore it. 

Thankfully, the mysterious investor didn’t leave him waiting for long. The Maitre D’ (who deserved the title) soon approached his table with the man. Chuck looked him over. Nice striped suit, nice hat. Suit tailored to fit. Definitely wealthy. Short, but not _too_ short--about Chuck’s height, actually. Blondish-brown hair with...wow. When the investor’s eyes met Chuck’s, he saw that they were a striking honey-gold color. He often got comments on his own eyes, but he suspected that this man got more. 

The investor held a hand out, smiled, and Chuck stood up to shake it. “Loour,” the man said. 

“Uh...Lo-oo-ur, uh, sorry, I don’t think I quite caught that. Too many vowels for me,” Chuck replied, smiling self-deprecatingly. 

“Just Lo is fine,” the man said, grinning at him. “And you’re Chuck, the writer.”

“Ah...yes, yes. Also known as Carver Edlund.” Chuck gave him a thumbs-up and then felt silly for doing it. “And, uh, you are a fan of _Supernatural?_ ”

“Oh yes,” Lo said. “I especially like that trickster character. Are you planning to bring him back?”

“Oh, um.” Chuck never knew how his visions would go. “Um, probably, yeah. I mean, he’s a great character, don’t you think? And he can always have faked his own death.” 

Lo grinned wide, and set his hat on an unused chair before sitting down and gesturing to the chair Chuck had been sitting in. “Please, Chuck, sit.”

Chuck did, wondering how it had gone from _his_ table to Lo’s table in such a short amount of time. Oh well, the investor was paying, it might as well be his table. “So, um…” He tried to think of something that wasn’t stupid to say. “Well, uh, you like the books. And I have some more written! We just, you know, need money for publication.” As if that wasn’t stupid. 

Lo laughed, however. “Of course, of course, and that’s where I come in. Don’t worry, I do plan to help you publish them.”

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief before he could stop himself. “Oh, um...good. I mean, that’s good. Er, thank you.” 

Lo seemed to enjoy Chuck’s flusteredness. “You’re welcome. Still, I wanted to monopolize your time for a while. Dinner and maybe after. I have questions! For a start, what happens in the third series?”

“Oh! Um, well…” Chuck was finally on familiar territory, and relaxed a little. He slipped into his author persona, beginning with, “Well, Dean comes back from Hell, but no one knows how he got out.” He went smoothly into the song and dance he always gave regarding the third series of books. 

Lo listened with rapt attention, nodding every once in a while, as if confirming his personal suspicions. Chuck was glad when he simply asked additional questions, and didn’t try to critique the story or, worse, suggest plots. Frequently, investors were people who couldn’t write themselves but had very definite ideas about what writers should write. Lo didn’t seem to be one of these. 

The waitress returned, and Chuck and Lo ordered. Lo ordered another bottle of wine to go with dinner, and topped Chuck’s glass off in the meantime. Chuck figured the guy was trying to get him drunk so he would spill secrets, but whatever. He couldn’t see beyond what he’d already seen, and that was just facts...plus this was a really nice mescal. The soda water and lemon just perfected it. 

Lo was a great dinner companion. It turned out they had a similar sense of humor, so they actually got a little giggly once or twice. Lo told some great stories, and listened carefully when Chuck told his...with, all right, perhaps a tendency to interrupt and go off on a tangent. Okay, he almost always interrupted Chuck, but his stories were great to listen to and Chuck was an introvert, so Chuck didn’t mind much. 

Lo had pulled his chair around the table until they were practically seated next to each other, and was currently pontificating on the finer points of modern music. Chuck didn’t care that his tastes ran to older music, as Chuck liked it as well, nodding along as Lo made his points and patted Chuck’s shoulder. They went through several more bottles of wine with and after dinner.

Eventually, the Maitre D’ came over with an apologetic smile. Lo had signed the check at least an hour ago, Chuck thought. He wasn’t completely sure; Lo had mostly succeeded in getting him drunk. “I’m so sorry, gentlemen, but we’re going to close up soon. I can provide you with a recommendation if you would like to continue drinking.” 

Chuck peered up at him blearily. “Sorry!” he apologized, climbing to his feet and displacing Lo’s hand from his...had it be on his knee? No, surely, it had still been on his shoulder. 

Lo frowned briefly at the man, but once Chuck apologized, it turned into a smile. “Of course, of course, we’ll just be a few more minutes.” He stood, then put an arm around Chuck when his first couple of steps weren’t particularly coordinated. “You don’t look so good,” he pointed out. “My hotel’s just down the block. Why don’t you come sleep there? They gave me two beds.” 

“‘M okay,” Chuck slurred, but then realized he wasn’t as he took a few more steps, Lo’s arm half-holding him up. “Orrrrrrrr maybe not,” he said, laughing. It seemed funny. 

Lo laughed along with him, and guided him outside--the breeze sobered Chuck up a little, but not a lot. “Come on,” he said. “I have plenty more alcohol in my room.” 

“Al-co-hol,” Chuck repeated, still snickering to himself. “Al Ca-pone.” 

“Uh-huh,” Lo replied, guiding Chuck not toward where a taxi was waiting, but down the block, toward his hotel room. Chuck didn’t mind; the promise of more alcohol sounded, well, promising. 

Chuck opened his mouth to tell Lo about the joke he’d made in his head, but forgot it as a doorman opened the hotel doors for them. The doorman was smiling, and didn’t even blink at how inebriated Chuck was. 

“Oooh. That’s shiny,” Chuck giggled, once they were in the lobby and passing a metal statue of...something. He wasn’t sure. Was it supposed to be a flower? Probably. 

“Lots of shiny bottles up in my suite,” Lo told him, and Chuck didn’t notice that Lo wasn’t nearly as drunk as he was. “Not far now, Chuck!” He hustled the writer into an elevator and pushed a button. Chuck could have made out the number if he concentrated, but...why bother? 

“More mescal?” Chuck asked. 

“Sure, lots of it,” Lo promised. “Tequila, too.”

“Tequila? Tequila. Tequiiiiiiiiiila,” Chuck repeated, as the elevator traveled. “I like tequiiiiiiiiila.” This, of course, made him laugh again, because everything was funny right now. 

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Lo said, snickering along with him. “And here I thought it would be hard to get a prophet to go to bed with me.” 

“Prophet? Wazza...pro-fet?” Chuck asked. And then, because he still had just enough brain cells to maintain a tiny bit of dignity, he added, “‘T sleep.”

“Never mind. Forget I said anything,” Lo replied, supporting Chuck as they made their way out of the elevator and into his rather lavish suite.

Chuck looked around unsteadily once the door was opened, tried to whistle, failed a few times, and instead drawled, “Wooooooooooow, This ish sho nice!”

“I’m glad you like it. Come on, the bar’s over here,” Lo said, making his way over to something that was _definitely_ better stocked than your average mini-bar. 

Chuck started in that direction, but more or less fell down on a couch before he got there. Thankfully, Lo soon approached him with a couple of shot glasses and a bottle. He poured, and as soon as he was done, Chuck took the shot and downed it. “Yay tequila!” he declared after swallowing. 

Lo raised expansive eyebrows--wow, those eyes were even prettier in this light than they had been in the restaurant--but poured Chuck another. “Good thing I can stave off alcohol poisoning,” he murmured.

“Huh?” Chuck took the second shot, but didn’t immediately down this one. 

Lo took his shot glass, and sat down next to Chuck. “Never you mind.” They were awfully close, but then again Chuck _was_ sprawling all over the place. Anyway, he didn’t really feel like obeying personal space boundaries right now. Lo clinked his glass with Chuck’s. “Skol!” 

“Cheersh!” Chuck added happily before they both downed their alcohol. 

When they had, Lo leaned close, staring in Chuck’s face. “I never really noticed this before, but...you have beautiful eyes, Chuck.” 

Chuck smiled, his brain to mouth filter missing right now. “Yoursh are pre’ty too. Been lookin’ at ‘em all night.” 

Lo grinned. “I have a confession to make,” he said slowly. 

“Wha’?” Chuck asked. 

Lo leaned in to whisper into Chuck’s ear. “I know that Mistress Magda is a beard so your fans and the boys don’t think you’re gay.”

“Nah,” Chuck denied it with an idle wave of his hand, but not with any particular heat. “‘M _to’ally_ straight.” 

Lo pulled back so their faces were just a couple of inches apart. “You sure about that?” he asked, before closing the distance and kissing Chuck full on the lips. 

Chuck was surprised...but after the shock wore off, he began to kiss back. Lo was attractive, and, well, he might have been right about that whole Mistress Magda thing. Chuck raised a hand and set it on the back of Lo’s head, then braced himself against his shoulder with the other. 

Lo pulled back just long enough to say, “Thought so,” before he went back to kissing Chuck. He was an excellent kisser, and Chuck’s jeans were soon a little tight...but moments later, Lo’s dextrous hands were working to relieve that pressure by opening his jeans. 

Chuck was pretty sure Rule #1 of being a writer was, ‘Don’t sleep with investors,’ but at the moment, he was too buzzed to care. He just started pulling ineffectually at Lo’s vest. 

Things...got a bit blurry for a moment, and then Chuck and Lo were both in bed, naked. Chuck couldn’t quite remember how they’d gotten there, but that was probably the alcohol. 

Besides, he now had his hands on those surprisingly well-muscled arms and abs and...well, elsewhere, because he wasn’t being especially particular. Sue him if he was a bit distracted. And that ass...wow. “All thish was under the shoot?” he slurred. 

Lo threw his head back and laughed--how’d he gotten on top? Not that it mattered; Chuck was a bottom’s bottom. “Not ONLY that,” he said, guiding Chuck’s hand to his dick. 

Chuck gasped aloud; Lo’s dick was both hard and _huge_. Like, be mistaken for a fire extinguisher huge. The man above him chuckled darkly after he groaned. “Roll over,” he instructed. “Don’t worry, I’m not a total dick; I’ll give you a reacharound.” 

Chuck literally made a squeaking noise. “Ummm…” he was starting to sober a bit, again. “Lube?” he asked, his voice high and anxious. 

“Of course.” Lo reached over to the nightstand, and there was a huge bottle of lube there Chuck hadn’t noticed before. 

Chuck knew he really should ask for a condom, but...eh, screw it. They were essentially going into business together; he didn’t think the guy would infect him with anything. Not if he wanted more books, and Lo definitely wanted more books! At least, that’s what Chuck’s alcohol-ridden brain told him. So, he just clumsily turned onto his stomach. 

Lo wasted no time manhandling Chuck into the position he wanted--face pressed down into the mattress, knees under his body, ass high in the air--and Chuck couldn’t help but moan. It was nice to be with someone who actually knew what they were doing...not to mention who could take charge like that. 

When the lube finally touched him, it was warm; Chuck appreciated the gesture, even if it was a lube that warmed itself. Finger pads followed, circling his hole, and he moaned loudly. 

Once again, he was rewarded with a chuckle. “Eager boy, aren’t you?” Lo asked, before slipping a finger in and smearing the lube around. “Wonder how many of my fingers I can fit in here?”

Chuck didn’t really know, or care--not when Lo found his prostate in seconds, almost as if he was magically guided to it. He let out a loud shout, and soon lost track of how many fingers were sliding steadily in and out of his hole, pausing to rub his sensitive insides each time. It took nearly no time at all for him to become a sweating, begging mess--and even without the alcohol, it was unlikely he would have been able to bring himself to care how little time it took. 

He flat-out whined when the fingers slid out, but they reached around him and took him in hand, stroking him to hardness before he felt something else--something _large_ at his hole. “Deep breath,” Lo told him, sounding slightly sarcastic, and then pushed home in one overwhelming bundle of sensation. 

Chuck groaned. “Oh god yes!” he exclaimed. He wasn’t even sure which sensation he wanted repeated, at this point. “Again, please!” 

“Good boy,” Lo growled in his ear, leaning over him before setting a pace that was almost, but not quite, too quick--both with his hand and hips. 

Chuck yelped each time the head of Lo’s dick found his prostate--which was more often than not--and kept up his words of encouragement. “Yes, yes, just like that! Please! Please, Lo! Nnnngh!” 

“If you insist,” Lo replied, hardly sounding winded. He fucked Chuck for what seemed like forever, long enough for Chuck to come all over his hand and the bed, and hard enough for it to be one of the best orgasms Chuck had ever had despite all of the alcohol. 

By the time Chuck was whining again, this time with oversensitivity, Lo pulled his hips back, stilled, and came deep inside of him. Chuck wondered vaguely if the other man was an actual porn star, what with his dick and the amount of cum he produced, before sliding down onto the bed, boneless. 

“Sleep,” Lo told him, and while he normally never got to sleep that easily, Chuck immediately closed his eyes and did just that. 

.oOOo.

In the morning, Lo was gone. He’d left Chuck’s clothes on a chair by the bed, and a couple of aspirin and some orange juice by the bed. Oddly enough, Chuck wasn’t nearly as hungover as he vaguely thought he should be. Still, he took the aspirin and downed the orange juice before heading into the enormous shower in the suite. 

After he’d availed himself of the facilities, he checked his phone. There was an excited text from his publisher. She said that they’d received a large check from the investor and to please, keep doing whatever he was doing with Lo. 

Lo had left him a...rather dirty text (he’d apparently checked Chuck’s phone to get the number). Among other things, it said that if Lo was ever back in the States, or if Chuck needed money for a fourth series, they should get together again. Chuck frowned. “Does that make a whore?” he wondered aloud. “I think that makes me a whore,” he told the bottle of tequila as he made his way over to the couch to finish it. Nothing better for a hangover than the hair of the dog, after all. 

After a few minutes and a couple of drinks, he decided he really didn’t care WHAT his relationship with Lo made him. Between the alcohol and the insanely good sex, he couldn’t complain. 

**Bonus scene from Heaven!**

“Oh my!” the angel said, wings puffing out in surprise as they walked into Raphael’s chambers and saw what the archangel was watching. 

“I know, right? Disgusting.” Raphael glanced back at their equivalent of a personal assistant. “But I have to watch, because he’s sleeping with the god Loki, of all beings. So he could be in danger.” His celestial wavelength made what passed for a grimace amongst angels, and then turned back to the view. 

“Ugh, why don’t you just smite Loki?” the subordinate angel asked. 

“He hasn’t done Chuck any harm. And the Prophet...Father help me, but the Prophet wants this,” Raphael explained with a shudder. “There are rules; we cannot just step in whenever something dangerous simply gets _near_ a Prophet.” 

The other angel shuddered, too. “Ah...I have that paperwork you wanted.” 

“Set it down. I’ll take care of it once the Prophet is definitely safe.”

The angel nodded, set the paperwork down, and left the room. Only once they were out of celestial earshot did they murmur, “Better you than me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr @masterpieceofturkeycleverness!


End file.
